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My Siberia revised

Maybe it's this sudden winter,
mild thus far, for the record books,
now below zero, frozen doors,
the world cracking beneath boots,

steps feel for surety, for freedom
from a fall, the breath I've never
noticed before, a cloud before me
like vapors of dry ice, counting steps,

still breaths to the door of warmth,
an escape from Siberia, from a place
where life is warmth and death
a coldness that numbs the senses

so that sleep wanders into a white
wilderness of the mind frozen
on steel racks in a locker room
behind a heavy, vault-like door.


My Siberia

Maybe it's this sudden winter,
mild thus far, for the record books,
now below zero, frozen doors,
the world cracking beneath my boots,

steps feel for surety, for freedom
from a fall, the breath I've never
noticed a cloud before me like a wall
of ice, counting steps and still

breaths to the door of warmth,
an escape from Siberia, from a place
where life is warmth and death a
coldness that numbs the senses

so that sleep wanders into a white
wilderness of the mind frozen
on steel racks in a locker room
behind a heavy, dungeon-like door.

The sense of numbing, brutal cold really comes through here. I admire your wide range of topics. Winter is handled by other poets so differently. Damn good poem.

Thanks Bob

I agree. This is a very atmospheric poem, and those can be hard to write.

I do notice a couple things. Starting the poem with ...

Maybe it's this sudden winter,

sets up an anticipation in me for it to be followed by a "that ..." phrase, but the "that" phrase never comes. The poem seems to be a run-on sentence without a clear structure.

Also, at a certain point in the poem I suddenly found myself filling in my own language (in my mind, at least). You wrote this:

life is warmth and death a coldness
that numbs the senses so that sleep
wanders into a white wilderness

I found myself filling in the bolded word below:

life is warmth and death a coldness
that numbs the senses so deeply

So I did a little rewriting of those lines:

life is warmth and death a coldness
that numbs the senses so deeply
that sleep wanders into a white wilderness

I don't think there's anything wrong with what you wrote, but for some reason "deeply" always pops into my mind when I get to that point. (I think the word "so" is setting up an anticipation in my mind for a superlative word.)

You can ignore all my comments if you wish, and the poem will still be good.

ThAnks Caleb. I will consider your suggestions.

revised

This is better, both the vapor imagery and that slam of a close…”vault-like door”… the 3 heavy stresses reinforcing the image.

I like the revision, Billy. I think it reads a little better. Again, you've written an appealing atmospheric poem. Well done.

I read this but would like to read it a few more times before I say anything. I agree with Bob that this is a damned good poem.
S